


What’s a Holiday Party Without a Little Intimidation? (or “Nothing Suits Rafael Barba Like a Suit”)

by blown_transistor



Series: Holiday Parties [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blown_transistor/pseuds/blown_transistor
Summary: Rafael Barba was having a really bad day. Naturally, he was a bit...short with someone that didn't really deserve it. Now he owes a favor.





	What’s a Holiday Party Without a Little Intimidation? (or “Nothing Suits Rafael Barba Like a Suit”)

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the Esparza Exchange on Tumblr for the lovely chiltonperalta.

**December 2016**

 

Rafael Barba groaned upon opening the heavy front door to the bank branch closest to his office and seeing the line of people waiting for the next available teller. He’d used two minutes of his lunch hour getting out of Hogan Place, and a further four to walk to the bank. He was never going to be able to eat beyond what he could stuff into his mouth between his office and a meeting at the squadroom later in the afternoon.

This was yet another day he couldn’t wait to end. The good days at Special Victims’ were few and far between, and this was _definitely_ not one of them.

The day started off with a backfire when his card was declined at his morning coffee stop. He immediately called the number on the back and was told that his card had been cut off on suspicion of fraud. _And_ that he’d have to go to the bank to order a new one.

 _Then_ his motion to exclude the particularly ludicrous alternate theory of the crime that the defense proposed was denied. Opening arguments would begin Monday.

Before he could get the first few words of the story about his debit card out, the teller that was well into her sixties instructed him to go wait for the next available customer service representative. There was something in there about it possibly being compromised because of a data breach at Target? He turned his head and sighed heavily. There was a line for one of those, too.

In fact, out of three available desks, only one was staffed. And there was someone currently talking to the young brunette at the only one staffed.

_The one time I go to damn Target…_

He leaned against the wall and began flicking through his emails. After a few moments, the elderly woman got up from her seat and exited the bank. As he sat down, the woman (identified by her nametag as Elizabeth) smiled and folded her hands in front of her.

“Sorry about your wait. We’re a little short-staffed right now because of the holidays coming up.” She held out her hand for a handshake. “I’m Elizabeth. How can I--”

“No kidding,” he muttered with an eyeroll. “My debit card won’t work, and there’s no reason it shouldn’t.”

“That’s not good. Let me get your account pulled up and see what I can find.” After he gave her the number, she hit a few keys and scrolled through the various screens. “It looks like your card was cut off yesterday.”

“Why? It doesn’t expire for two more years.”

“There was a letter sent out a few weeks ago…”

“I didn’t get a letter,” he interrupted coarsely.

“It looks like there’s a note on here that we’ve had some mail returned. Did you move recently?”

He opened his mouth and shut it again. In all the craziness around the threats, he’d indeed moved. And changing his address with the bank never occurred to him.

“I can get a new card ordered for you after we change your address.” She pulled a form from one of the desk drawers and began to fill in some spaces.

“So you cut off my card because I went to Target?”

“As a precaution to protect your account. We have no way of knowing who might have your card number.” She put her pen down and calmly asked for his identification to verify for the paperwork. She moved back when he practically threw his driver’s license at her. “Because of the number of cards being ordered, the card company is running behind. You should expect to receive your pin number in five to seven business days. The card should be there in about another seven days or so.”

“Two weeks?”

“Our bank branches alone have ordered upwards of four thousand cards. And that doesn’t count all the other banks in the area. If you want, I can get some cash for you to tide you over.”

“Fine.”

She barely said two more words the rest of the time he sat at her desk. Once he was out the door with a couple hundred dollars in cash, she dropped her head onto her desk and groaned.

* * *

 

“Carisi,” Rafael began several hours later, surveying the sparse crowd as they entered the restaurant with a raised eyebrow at the number of plaid bowties “aren’t we a bit...old for this place?”

“I’ll let you speak for yourself on that, Barba.” He pointed toward the farthest corner of the bar from them. “I promise, just take a _look_ at the cocktail menu. I saw it and thought of you.”

“I’m not sure what to say to that. You think of me when you’re perusing menus at bars?” When his drinking buddy merely sputtered in response, he let out a much-needed snort of laughter.

“You know what I meant.”

Shrugging off his coat, he climbed onto the last stool at the bar and scratched at a non-existent itch at the back of his head. “Not really, but let’s leave it at that.” He glanced over at the open cocktail menu and rolled his eyes. Coffee-flavored cocktails. Eight of them. _I’m nothing if not predictable_. He ordered a scotch instead.

The overly-flirtatious red-headed bartender set their drinks down in front of them and took a sip from her water bottle. “My replacement is in the bathroom changing into her work clothes. Is it cool with you guys if I wait to put the drinks in the computer until she gets on? Besides, it’s happy hour in five minutes.”

The detective naturally leaped at the chance since he’d offered to pay. He had no idea how much that scotch was going to run him.

Rafael let the warm liquid run down the back of his throat, relishing the burn.

“Got any big plans for Christmas?” Carisi finally inquired, breaking the silence between the two colleagues.

“If spending the day with my mother counts, then yes.” He rolled his drink around in the rocks glass. “Then I’ll spend the rest of the night working on paperwork.”

“That’s no fun, but I’m guessing your New Year’s plans sound a lot like those.”

Just as he was about to his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by the beginning of a folksy song.

And both men jumped when a large leather purse hit the bar in front of them.

“Fuck no. This is not a ‘Wagon Wheel’ friendly bar.” The new bartender slid around to the A.V. tower, pushed a few buttons, and re-emerged with a triumphant smile on her face as the Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back” poured from the speakers. She stuffed her purse in the cabinet beneath the computer before spinning dramatically on her heel in time with the music to face her inherited bar guests. “Third Friday night in a row. Keep it up, and I’ll think you’re making this joint a habit, Superman. And hello, Superman’s frie…”

Barba locked eyes for the first time with the twenty-something and swore under his breath. His bartender and his bank customer service representative were the same person. Granted, The Bartender had more exposed skin (and flowers tattooed down her right arm from her shoulder to wrist)...

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she offered`, turning to pull the tickets from the server printer at the other end of the bar.

After deftly avoiding Carisi’s question asking if he knew the bartender somehow, the pair fell back into normal conversation. Barba’s gaze wandered over to the petite figure performing quasi-ballet poses in order to reach various liquors and glassware.

As the bar grew busier by the minute, she pulled a string of server tickets off the printer.

He sniggered when he heard her threaten the server’s life that rang in six frozen mango margaritas. Carisi’s chatter faded into the background as he took a long, hard look at the young woman he’d snapped at earlier in the day.

Gone were her stern black pencil skirt and blue blouse from the bank. She’d changed into black Converses, skinny jeans, and a black tank top. Her right arm was covered from shoulder to wrist in a sea of leaves, vines, thorns, and roses. The inside of her left forearm was inked with a few words that he couldn’t make out. Beyond her tattoos, he watched as she held a tall beer glass with four fingers of each hand and used each index finger to reach around, turn on the taps, and pour the beers.

When she finally turned back around to the two “old men” at the bar and held up two fingers, Sonny nodded.

“Maybe we should just head out after this. This place is getting pretty crowded,” Rafael suggested as she poured his scotch.

“The dinner crowd in the other half of this place is about to die out. That’s what’s causin’ the hold up.”

 

“I think I can breathe for a minute,” the out of breath brunette sighed after an intense fifteen minutes, pulling a stool from in front of the bar next to the register and sitting on it. “What’s new, Superman?”

“Same shit, different day.”

“Preachin’ to the choir.”

The younger man elbowed the prickly A.D.A. beside him. “Counselor, this is Liz. Liz, this is Rafael Barba.”

“Maybe when I offer to shake your hand for the second time today, you won’t get snippy with me,” she offered before extending her right hand to him. “Elizabeth Applegate.”

Barba’s eyes fell to her lilac-painted lips as he shook her hand.

“Do I even want to know?”

“That depends,” the bartender posited. “Did you know that your attorney friend here can be an unmitigated ass?” She grinned. “I can say that now that I’m not on the bank’s clock.”

“I’ve noticed.” When Rafael glared at him, Carisi shrugged. “I don’t judge. You win cases.”

“I figured as much based on the suit. Two button suit in navy…” Liz paused, reached across the bar, and rubbed the lapel of his dark grey suit between her thumb and forefinger. “Wool blend. I’d say Armani, but you’re drinking scotch in a bar meant for people younger than me. It’s custom-tailored because you’re not a farmer. And he’s buying you a drink because you’re on the same side.”

He laughed. “You’re right about this suit, and…”

Resting her elbow on the bar, she used the palm of her hand as a rest for her chin. “Have you seen that one? ‘Truth, Justice, and the American Way’. There’s a reason I call him ‘Superman’.”

After exclaiming in protest, Sonny shied away when both his drinking buddy and bartender both put hand on hip and stared at him simultaneously.

“I’m an Assistant District Attorney.”

“So do you strip in your off-hours? Tailored, that is a two thousand dollar suit.”

Coughing as discreetly as possible into the napkin, the detective shot a sideways glance at the other people involved in the conversation.

“So you’re not a defense attorney,” she acquiesced. “I’d like to pretend to be offended that you can afford custom on an A.D.A.’s salary. Then again, you might start questioning your choice of financial institution if you found out the person who ordered your new card this morning has a wardrobe they shouldn’t be able to afford.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not in the slightest.” She turned and grabbed the bottle of single malt from its place on the shelf, refilling his glass.

 

A little while later, Carisi put down his credit card down on the bar and excused himself to the restroom.

“I’m sorry,” Barba offered when the detective was out of earshot and and she stopped in front of him again. “I was rude this morning.”

“And you couldn’t possibly say that to me in front of your friend.”

“I didn’t want an audience.” Finishing his drink, he pulled a business card from the inside of his suit coat and scribbled something on the back. “If I can ever make it up to you…”

“You don’t have to. I bartend and I work in a bank. If a day goes by and someone wasn’t rude, I’d be concerned.”

“I remember what it was like working two jobs,” he admitted, standing and grabbing his coat when Carisi emerged from the men’s room. “I insist.”

* * *

 

“ _I’ve thought about that favor you seem to think you owe me, Rafael. I’ve decided to cash it in. But I’d much rather discuss it in person. Are you free for drinks tonight? Say seven at that wine place two blocks from the bank?_ ” Liz texted the following Monday.

“ _That’s not ominous at all,_ ” he returned.

“ _It’s not. I… Look. It’s going to be awkward enough asking a stranger for a favor. Allow me the courtesy of being a sheet and a half to the wind when I ask you?_ ”

“ _Seven it is._ ”

 

Sitting alone in the wine bar, Rafael fingered the stem of his second glass of chardonnay. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was drinking chardonnay the week before Christmas when it was cold enough to make hell freeze, but he didn’t really care. For once, he was early to something.

Just as he began to stare at the photograph of a rural Italian landscape across the room for the fifteenth time, a figure broke his line of sight. He grinned and looked back down into his glass. It was the right figure.

He pretended not to notice Liz mouthing “wow” in his general direction. Not that he had a leg to stand on. He’d had considerable success with women in the past with the light grey suit paired with the baby blue and gold tie. He’d intentionally picked this one out.

“I’m late. I’m sorry,” she apologized, sliding into the high-backed chair across from him. “Of all the days for someone to colossally fuck up at the bank, it _had_ to be today.”

“Fixed now?”

“Of course.” She smiled warmly. “The branch manager calls me ‘Radar O’Reilly’. And before you ask, yes. I do understand that reference. I’m twenty-five, not a farmer.”

“Oh the bright pink Hermès bag gave that away, Elizabeth.”

Pulling her phone from the aforementioned purse, she tapped the screen a few times and handed it to Rafael. “This is how I afford the nice stuff. It’s like Craigslist, but for designer labels. And I financed everything I bought. I use Christmas and birthday money to bring down the balances while everyone assumes I just can’t let go of shoes from two seasons ago.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he inquired after she ordered a glass of “whatever he’s drinking”.

“Well, I don’t want to get fired because you think I’m some sort of criminal. I want you to know that I’ve got nothing to hide.” When he simply raised an eyebrow, she let out a shaking breath and continued. “I need you to pretend you’re my boyfriend for a night.”

Rafael laughed, covering his mouth just in case any wine came back up.

“There’s a reason, I swear,” she pleaded. “Please hear me out?”

He coughed, composed his expression, and motioned for her to continue. “I’m sorry.”

“I work for the bar at night on the weekends. My brother owns it. I moved back to New York after college, and took a job with him to pay the bills until I could get something else. And he’s short staffed at the moment.” She shrugged. “I can’t leave him hanging. The bank doesn’t know why, but I’m going to be transferring to a branch in Queens after the first of the year. And I need a date for the branch Christmas / ‘Liz Is Leaving’ party. I can’t skip it.”

“So why do you need me? Why not ask ‘Superman’?”

“Because you look like you could afford to buy me this bag.” She slid the invitation typed in the infernal Comic-Sans over to him. “Besides, he’s so not my type. Everyone would know it was a fake date.”

“And _I’m_ your type?”

Quickly thanking the waitress for her wine, she took a sip and smiled. “Yup.” When his brow furrowed, she bit her lip. “What?”

“I guess I’m still struggling with why you need a fake date that looks real.” Looking up from the arbitrary spot he’d been staring at on the table, his green eyes met her brown ones again. “And why that somehow involves me being your fake sugar daddy.” The last two words left his lips in an almost-spit.

“I love the people I work with, but the assistant manager is why I’m leaving,” Liz admitted in little more than a whisper. “I was warned about him on my first day out of training. I’m the youngest in the branch by twenty years. The comments I can brush off. I’ve been brushing them off for the last year and a half. I’ve worked retail and restaurants. I’ve heard worse, as I’m sure you have.” She shrugged. “Sonny’s told me a lot. I think he forgets that part of being a bartender is the listening part.”

“Then if you’ve listened, you know what both of us do.” Rafael cautiously reached across the table and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I do, but it wouldn’t do a bit of good. He’s the son of the bank president.”

“That doesn’t matter. If he’s crossed a line, he needs to be stopped.”

“And lose my job or disappear? No thank you. I owe more in student debt than it feels like I’ll ever make in my lifetime. In case you haven’t heard, double-majoring at  Yale isn’t cheap.” She cocked an eyebrow when he smirked inexplicably.

“Yale, huh?”

“Look, are you going to help me or not? If not, I’ll…”

“Relax. I’ll help you. I shouldn’t, given that you went to Yale. But you caught me in a good mood.” He took another drink from his glass.

“What’s that supposed to-- Lemme guess, Harvard?” When his smirk turned into a full blown grin, she rolled her eyes.

* * *

 

Checking her phone for the millionth time, Liz sighed in frustration and hooked the heel of her stiletto on the leg of the chair. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could avoid being cornered by her boss when a knock came on the glass door of the branch. She whipped her head around so fast that she smacked herself in the face with her drop earrings. Setting her drink down, she jogged over to the door and unlocked it.

“I’m so sorry. I wound up having to go down to the precinct at the last minute.”

She let out a muffled yelp when his arm wrapped around her lower back and he kissed her cheek. He smelled like woodsy cologne with just a hint of sweat.

“You wanted it to look real,” he whispered.

“Thank you.” Backing away slightly, she took his briefcase. “Lemme take your coat, too? I’ll put it with my purse.”

Rafael shrugged off his tan overcoat, smiling warmly down at her. He spotted someone across the room that vaguely matched the description of the thorn in her side and caught her by the elbow. “Is that him?”

“Yes, but _please_ don’t…”

“Relax.” He followed her over to her desk, where she draped his coat over her chair. “So how was your day, _honey_?” he asked with a knowing grin before pouring himself a drink.

“Long. Yours, _darling_?”

“Very much the same. Better now that I’m seeing you.” He swept a stray strand of hair behind her ear, chuckling when she shuddered.

“Oh lay off.”

“And have this look fake?”

 

She couldn’t help but smile as she grabbed their coats two hours later. Clearly, Rafael Barba didn’t do anything by halves. He stayed by her side the whole night. His hand rested possessively either around her shoulder or on the small of her back most of the night. He was the picture of the perfect gentleman. Linking her arm with his, she held back to let him open the door for her. “Thank you, Rafael. Truly.” She put her hand on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his cheek like he’d done earlier.

“So it was good enough to return the favor?”

“Naturally.”

He held out his arm to hail her a cab. “Just promise me that if that _pendejo_ does anything…”

“I’ll call you.” She slid into the back of the cab after he opened the door. “Goodnight.”

He waved in response as the cab pulled away from the curb.

* * *

 

She texted the next day: “ _What the hell did you do, Rafael Barba? I get to work, and Mark’s office was cleaned out. I told you not to do anything._ ”

“ _I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about._ ”

“ _Bullshit. I know you did something._ ”

“ _My memory could come back if you have dinner with me tonight._ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“ _I’m sure even Yale teaches reading. Have dinner with me tonight._ ”

“ _Are you asking me out on a date?_ ”

“ _Yes._ ”

“ _Why?_ ”

“ _Because I enjoyed your company and want to see you again. And I need a real date for New Year’s._ ”

“ _I’ll see you tonight, then._ ”


End file.
